


Hollow Streets

by sansalannistark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Happiness, F/M, Romance, WW2
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-03-05 10:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13385697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansalannistark/pseuds/sansalannistark
Summary: War beckons in 1939, but it is a different kind of trouble which brings Miss Sansa Stark and Captain Jaime Lannister together.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I have a massive long apology to make becuase for anyone who follows me, they’ll know I’ve been neglecting my longer work - To Fall Before The Lion - for months now. No, you can yell at me lol. I feel pretty bad. Basically it wasn’t going anywhere and I hated it so I took a long break. Plus I’ve been pretty busy and will continue to be. I’ll probably have a hiatus from fic from April-late June as I have exams, but then I’ll be back with a load of new fic. Before then, however, I plan to do a few things.
> 
> \- Update TFBTL and revise all the chapters. So if you see there’s been an update and the chapters are differentiated it’s because I’m seriously revising (though I won’t heavily alter the plot).  
> \- Revising all my other AO3 works. I need to keep things neat and tidy and in addition to posting new stuff I’m going to reorganise and revise everything a bit at a time.  
> \- Post some new smaller works.  
> \- Post works for jaimsa week! I’m case you didn’t know, I’ve on tumblr I’m hosting the first jaimsa (smut) week! If you’re on tumblr, you can find everything about the first jaimsa week at @jaimsaweek :))
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me guys - I hope you like whatever this turns out to be and hope you’re happy when I finally sort TFBTL (and my life) out! 
> 
> Sanlan x
> 
> P.S my chapter titles are in French! ;)

The darkness permeated every corner of the fearful London street. Disturbed only by the occasion hurried footfalls of soldiers and street sellers the gentle whisper of the wind slipped, slinking through the streets like a snake in the grass, its venomous body unseen. A column of harsh yellow light spilled from the grimy windows of a jazz club onto the street. The light was dimmed as much as possible to hide the potential target from enemy planes overhead but the muffled noise emanating from within suggested that the clearly-ignored blackout was having little effect on the partying civilians inside.

  
Inside, the dance floor was littered with soldiers, dancing intermingled between young girls with the occasional older couple wandering through the throng of young men and women. At the bar, a particular cluster of girls sat giggling – glasses of sherry in their hands, knowing it would be the last decent drink they’d likely have in the upcoming months as the war came harder and faster.

  
Three girls in particular made a clichéd bunch. A ginger, a brunette and a blonde leaned against the bar in varying homemade dresses as they drank their beverages. The oldest – the brunette – spotted a crowd of soliders enter the venue and approach the bar, and turned to her friends. She raised an eyebrow suggestively, to which her companions blushed and laughed.

  
“Marge, is it really necessary to go after every soldier you lay your eyes on?”  
“Oh, come on Sansa, it’s fun!” Margaery exclaimed to her friends, twisting her soft brown hair around her finger. Her doe eyes flittered suggestively in the direction of the men. Sansa rolled her eyes.

  
“Cella, don’t tell me you want to turn yourself into a flirtatious vixen too,” Sansa asked the younger girl, desperately attempting to seek backup against Margaery’s wild inclinations.

  
“Hardly!” Myrcella said, wrinkling her nose and frowning as she took a gulp of her sherry. “Especially since the tall blonde man is my Uncle Jaime.”

  
All three sets of eyes turned to look at the man Myrcella mentioned. Sansa had heard of the infamous Jaime Lannister from her friend and from street rumours her mother had tried - and failed - to keep from her innocent eldest daughter. From what Sansa had heard, he was proud and successful, his wealthly privilege and family name had afforded him a high position in his father – patriarch Tywin Lannister’s - company, Lannister Co. before the war. She knew that Tywin had now taken a position high up in the Government’s war offices (her father had spoken of his dislike of the old lion) but it was only when Myrcella leaned over to tell her, that she found out Jaime had recently joined the army as a captain. Marge looked ready to pounce but Sansa sent her a scant look that caused the Highgarden girl to reluctantly stand-down. She didn’t need any more encouragement to go after men.

  
Sansa sat, carefully observing the infamous and allegedly-harsh natured Captain until a tap on her arm interrupted her gaze. Margaery pulled her round to face a young man with slate grey eyes and mussed dark-brown hair who introduced himself as Ramsay Bolton. Sansa, caught in the moment took a second to process that he was talking to her, and not Margaery who so often was the focus of men’s attentions.

  
“I’m Sansa Stark. Nice to meet you,” She uttered pleasantly, accepting the man’s offer of a drink. He too was a soldier and explained that he knew her family, as his own father was one of Ned’s pre-war employees.

  
They spent a good part of the evening chatting, as she listened eagerly to the stories his father had told him of the Stark Industry escapades and adventures and she listened animatedly, adding her own tales of her father and the northern life she had grown up in. Sansa found herself surprised at the similarities in childhood, even if Ramsey was a little domineering. By eleven o’clock, Sansa was quite tipsy and all notion of Jaime Lannister was gone from her mind. Thank God she wasn’t a lightweight like Margaery, or she might have forgotten her own name by now.

  
Sansa had just been about to follow Ramsey outside when a hand wrapped itself around her wrist. “I wouldn’t follow him, if I were you, Miss.”

  
Sansa shot a quizzical look at the interrupter, surprised to see it was Jaime Lannister. Shocked by his frank rudeness, she jerked her arm out of his grip and shot him a glare.

  
“I’ll thank you to stick to your own affairs, Ser,” she said, more than annoyed at his rude interruption. She’s hadn’t expected such an ungentlemanly thing from an army Captain, even if he was a Lannister. It was only the glimpse of worry in his eyes that made her hesitate and he leaned forward to mutter something to her.

  
“I just heard that soldier you’re with bragging to his friends about how he plans to fuck you on the street outside. I’m quite sure that’s something you don’t wan’t - neither do I and neither do your friends.”

  
Sansa paled. Ramsey was calling to her, but all she felt was a rising wave of nausea as she considered Captain Lannister’s words.

  
“Sansa!” Ramsey barked.

  
Jaime opened his mouth to retort but before he could get a word in, Sansa whirled around, staring daggers at the young Bolton. “Is it true? What Captain Lannister heard, is it true?”

  
Ramsey feigned confusion for a moment, but taking in Jaime’s hard stare, his mouth twisted into a warped smile. Sansa wasn’t even sure that expression was human. Nor was it sane. “I needed a good fuck,” was all he said before he shrugged and grinned at her.

  
Sansa held back a barely repressed sob but anger prevailed over her hurt. “Get out,” she managed under her tears. “Get the hell out before I let them beat you.”

Sansa was well aware of Jaime’s clenched fists and the hunger in the eyes of the other soldiers who had turned to watch. Their eyes were alight, attuned to the slightest hint of violence.

  
Ramsey shot them a hateful glare, but he and his cronies turned and fled Sansa let it a suppressed breath and felt her friends gripping her arms and wrapping their hands round her torso. Jaime remained where he was, watching the three of them though his eyes stayed fixed on her own unblinking gaze. The green of his iris was rather enchanting. She’d only seen such a shade in her art classes before the war when they’d mixed colours on an art trip outside of London. She’d loved art back when-

  
“Can I do anything else, Miss…?”

  
“San… Sansa Stark,” Sansa said, shaken from her reverie.

  
“Captain Jaime Lannister. At your service.” If he was taken aback by her family name, he did not show it.

  
Margaery and Myrcella gave her a hug and glanced at Jaime suspiciously - Myrcella managed a quick “Hello” - but they seemed to understand and wandered off to dance with the soldiers.

  
“I… Thank you.” Sansa murmured, for want of anything better to say. When had she forgotten how to form complete sentences?

”My mother always taught me to look out for maidens in distress, Miss Stark, though I fear I did very little. You scared him off far better than I did.”

”You’re too kind, Captain,” she demurred, sliding him a sky smile. 

“It is not a kindness, but the truth,” he added in earnest. Jaime reached for her hand which Sansa gladly gave him, her heart thumping a little harder when she felt the press of his warm lips to her skin.

”It’s been a pleasure making your acquaintance, Captain.”

”Please, call me Jaime. I tire of these titles.”

”Then you must call me Sansa.”

Jaime murmured her name as his eyes drank in her face: “Sansa.” The girl omin question managed to suppress the shiver that danced down her spine in hearing his say her name, deepening on the a and rolling his tongue around it.

”I hope I shall see you again, Jaime.”

”Likewise, Sansa. I bid you goodnight.”

Jaime pulled his cap over the slick blonde hair and dipped his head at her with twinkling eyes. His comrades slapped his back and lead him out but Sansa could not draw her gaze from the man. Before Jaime slipped through the doors, she turned away, rejoining her friends - now dancing in the centre of the room. Had Sansa remained as she were, she might have seen Jaime hover at the door, turning back for a moment to watch her smile as she danced. Sansa’s head was tipped back, her long red hair cascading down her back as she grinned and grabbed Maragery’s hand. Jaime pulled himself away at the hollering of his men, but he couldn’t dispel the image of the goddess he had seen. Like the mythical women in the tales he had read as an impressionable young boy, Sansa was a goddess, immortalised in his mind as he disappeared into the long night, the hollering of his men surrounding him.


	2. II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few prying siblings, a chance enounter, a fight and a phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanted to add that though I've watched a million movies and shows set during WW2 and been to museums etc. I’m not a historian or an expert so if I get details wrong, excuse me and I’ll try and fix them. That said, happy reading! :-)

It took Jaime a ridiculously long time to find his brother, though he was not unused to it. Tyrion Lannister often hid away in one of the many isolated strategic planning rooms of the War Office. When Jaime did find him, Tyrion was sitting in the corner surrounded by piles of military books. Most surprising was the presence of their father, Tywin Lannister. Jaime knew full well the extent of his father’s dislike for his dwarf son: to find both father and son quietly working within 10 feet was akin to a miracle. As Jaime closed the door behind him, Tyrion looked up, though his father continued to brood over a scaled table map of England.

“Jaime,” said Tyrion. “Where in seven hells have you been?”

Jaime grinned, sliding past his father to sit down next to Tyrion, though there was little room with all of his brother’s books. “I took your advice, brother. I’ve been out.”

Tyrion watched Jaime carefully. “See anyone special while you were out?” The answering sigh told him far more than Jaime’s weak attempt at a lie: “Hardly. I am 35, Tyrion: I doubt any of those young girls would spare a second glance at me.”

“Really?” Tyrion narrowed his eyes, the trademark Lannister green glittering.  
“That’s not what I’ve heard...” He might have continued, had it not been for the thundering tone that interrupted them.

“If you aren’t here to talk about the War, then don’t be here at all. I will not stand and listen to this idle chatter whilst I try to plan important strategic movements!”

It was as if they were children again, growing up in their father’s dark shadow at Casterly Rock. The brothers shrunk under their father’s tone as they had when they were young, though they could not suppress their smirks.

“Apologies, father,” Jaime replied, “We’ll leave – we wouldn’t want to interrupt your _important strategic movements_.” His sarcasm earned him a snappy grimace from their father. Tyrion winked jovially at his elder brother as he followed him out the room. On reaching the corridor, Tyrion rounded on Jaime.

“I have it heard that you saved a certain maiden from a cruel fate last night. Is it true, or have you ceased your maiden-rescuing efforts altogether, for if so, I urge you to reconsider – this city has lost altogether too many honest men.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “’Honest’? That’s a rather dramatic misuse of the word, don’t you think? Who have you been hovering around, Tyrion?” he joked.

“Quite the same tepid people you do, but useful people all the same. And their words do not lie: Sansa Stark must be very grateful to you.” Tyrion observed his brother’s sudden interest in the poster hanging along the wall and grinned.

“I hardly did a thing - I merely called him out for his intentions. And they were cruel intentions, from a notoriously cruel man.”

“Ah, so it _was_ a damsel in distress! Have you spoken to her since?”

“No,” Jaime replied staunchly, trying his very best to end the unpleasant turn the conversation was taking.

“Now, where are your manners? Where is the gentlemanly Jaime that I know? Did he disappear with Cersei’s innocence? Oh wait, I forgot, that never existed!”

Tyrion’s banter earned him another snappy look from Jaime and he relented. Cersei’s infidelity was still a sore spot with Jaime, although its discovery had come months ago. Tyrion tended to respect his brother’s hurts and pains but in this instance, the opportunity to poke at his brother and their bitch of a sister was too tempting to dismiss. Jaime’s moods never lasted for long however, and soon they found themselves laughing in tandem as they recalled Tommen’s antics that morning and how it had grated on Cersei’s fragile nerves.

Tyrion made his farewells and left to meet with the Martells. With nothing to do until he left for France and a bright morning beckoning, the temptation to wander London’s dusty streets seemed the best option. Leaving the War Office, Jaime let his feet carry him along the main road, flanked by groups of soliders and clusters of women. The smell of freshly baked bread and bombs met him at every kerb, causing his nose to wrinkle. As he strolled down some of the smaller side streets, Jaime watched as the war continued to snatch at the city he had lived in for over fifteen years.

Jaime was so distracted he almost missed the flash of red at the edges of his vision. This brief lure of flame snatched his eyes to the two figures entering a small grocery store by the roadside: a slight, russet haired girl flanked by an astonishingly tall blonde woman. At first, he did not register the smaller girl’s face as she glanced around at the busy street, but as she disappeared into the shop, his memory returned: Sansa Stark. _By the Gods_ , he mused, _of all people._

By some will not of own - at least, that was what he told himself - Jaime moved across he road, stood, and waited patiently outside the shop, watching as Sansa’s friend passed over their ration books and received their provisions. She was chatting merrily as she exited and barely spared a glance his way, aside from nodding respectfully to him.

“Good morning.”

“Sansa Stark?” he called out, half curious to see if she remembered him and sure she would see him as he feared: a solider with a strange stalker tendency.

Sansa did a double take, confusion sweeping over her soft face until it lit up in joy. “Captain Lannister!” She turned to her friend, “Brienne, this is the man who helped me last night.”

“Jaime, please,” he added, smiling at her recollection. “I hope I find you well, Miss Stark? And I know your companion, I do believe. Brienne Tarth, isn’t it? We worked together a while back.”

“You’re quite right Captain.” The taller woman turned to her friend: “Captain Jaime and I worked together in the Government before the War, some years ago.”

“How strange,” Sansa said, blinking as she regarded her companions. “It’s a small world.” She let out a small giggle. Jaime fought the urge to keep staring at her. Smiling as she was and laughing softly with those rosy cheeks, wearing that little flowered dress. Jaime couldn’t keep his eyes off her. She was a sweet young woman, though far more ferocious than she let on, if her words last night left any indication.

“Miss Stark, this is most convenient. I had been on my way home, with the intention to call after your well-being, but it seems you have saved me the trouble. How are you faring?”

Sansa tilted her head, pulling her scarf round her neck. “I’m quite well, thank you Jaime. Much thanks to you,” she added. He could swear she was blushing but it was cold. She was likely just cold. “But I must insist you call me Sansa. I do hate formalities.”

“Sansa,” he said just as he had last night. Gods, her name tasted as sweet as the almonds he enjoyed from the stall on Providence Street. Almost at once, he realised how foolishly he was acting and dipped his head to the two ladies.

“If you need anything else, before I leave, please, ask.”

“That is most kind, Jaime,” Brienne said, smiling. He returned her smile.

“Perhaps I might reacquaint myself with you, Brienne, before I leave for France. It has been many years. And of course, I should like to get to know you better, Sansa, if it pleases you.”

“I would enjoy nothing more,” Sansa murmured.

“I would be delighted,” Brienne said.

“Wonderful. Perhaps I can call with a convenient time?”

“Lovely,” Sansa replied, beaming. “Thank you so much for your kind invitation and for seeing to my welfare. Good day, Jaime.”

“And to you both. Stay safe.” Jaime turned and left, taking a detour back through the park as he made his way home, silently resolving to make use of his telephone very soon.

——

Sansa left Brienne at Hyde Park, and took the tube the rest of the way home. When she finally rang the front door, she was overjoyed and surprised to see that the sibling answering the door was one she had not been expecting to see. She was immediately enveloped in a crushing embrace, her face planted into auburn curls as strong arms clenched her tight.  
  
“Robb! When did you get home?” Sansa cried out, pulling back so she could take in his appearance. Ever the motherly figure, she made a face at his pronounced cheekbones and the slimness of his face, though she reassured herself that he was home and doubtless their mother would feed him up. “You should have called.”  
  
Robb grinned sheepishly, shaking his head. “How did I know you would chide me for not calling you! You haven’t changed, princess.” After she had slapped him on the arm for his use of her hated childhood nickname, Sansa squeezed him in a final quick hug and slid past him so he could shut the door. Inside the house she heard the sound of her younger brothers and sister playing and her nose caught the scent of the pie that her mother was cooking - from the sound of the sizzling onions and the smell of the meat cooking, mother had clearly saved the rationed meat they had picked up earlier that week. Sansa’s mouth was already watering.  
  
“Is dad home yet?”  
  
“No, he called and said he’d be about an hour - there’s something he needs to sort out apparently.” Robb made a face and patted her arm. “Cheer up. I’ll be even more of a surprise when he gets home.”  
  
“Hey, I just want my tea,” she joked. Her big brother gave her a fake look of disappointment and she laughed.  
  
“Sansa, is that you?” Catelyn Stark called out.  
  
“Hello mum, yeah it’s me. I have the stuff you wanted but they’d ran out of carrots so I got green beans instead.”  
  
By now, Robb had slumped onto the settee. Sansa took the groceries to her mother, leaning over the pan for a smell of dinner. “Do you want any help with that?”  
  
Catelyn laughed, swatting her away good-naturedly with her wooden spoon. “No thank you, Sansa. Go, spend time with your brother. The rest of that lot are upstairs, they shouldn’t bother you.”  
  
Catelyn kissed her daughter’s forehead, brushing her off to see Robb. Though she liked helping with the food, she was at least grateful for the time with her favourite sibling. She collapsed down beside Robb, letting her pounding head rest against the soft cushions.

“So, how’ve you been?” he asked, shifting so she had more room. “Not seeing any boys I hope.” Robb gave her a hard look, though he remained smiling. Although she knew him to be joking, Sansa was also well aware of how protective her older brother was. When it came to boys, Robb had always been careful to shield her and quick to admonish her (when things didn't turn out successfully, which was often) though he sided with her above everything. Sansa had always thought that when she eventually married, as she had dreamed of, her husband would have to face Robb first and the notion often brought a smile to her face, imagining some handsome young man quaking as he met her brother. After all, he had had absolutely no qualms about facing off against any of her previous idiot boyfriends.  
  
Robb looked as if he wanted some story from her, but Sansa was wont to tell him about the incident with Ramsey. If Robb heard even the smallest thing about the Bolton boy, he would likely start some street brawl right outside the Bolton house. If he heard Jaime Lannister was involved, well, Sansa didn’t want to imagine what trouble he’d cause. More than anything, she didn’t want her brother to lose his position in the army, or bring scandal upon the family because he was too protective of her, so she stayed silent.  
  
“You know me, Robb, when do I do anything but go dancing with Margery and Myrcella!” she said, quite proud of how confident and smooth she sounded. Sansa loved Robb, but he wasn’t the biggest fan of Myrcella - she was after all, a Lannister. By law, Robb and Ned hated the Lannisters. Still, better to tell Robb that she had been dancing with Myrcella, than that she had been rescued by Jaime from Ramsey Bolton’s clutches.

“Oh really - a simple evening out with your friends? No boys?”

“No,” she said quietly, though she could see the flash of anger in Robb’s eyes before he even opened his mouth.

“Sansa, I know about Ramsey - why would you try to lie to me?”

“You would only be angry,”  
She reasoned. She had to talk quickly - there was no way Robb would let this go. “He was an asshole but he didn’t do anything. I’m fine, I had Margaery and Myrcella.”

“I suppose, but if I knew you wouldn’t shout at me for it, I’d go there and beat the son of a bitch up myself.”

Sansa rolled her eyes at his vulgarity. “Really, Robb, I’m fine.”

The phone rang, trolling out over the bubbling sound of the stove and the screams and shouts of the children upstairs. Sansa made as if to get up to answer it, but Robb pushed her back down, moving to take the call himself with a small smile.

“Hello, the Stark Residence. May I ask who is calling?”

Sans aheard a mumbling down the line and distracted herself by fliddljngnwith her broken fingernail. She was so self-absorbed that when Robb yelled, she found herself jumping so dramatically, she almost fell from her seat.

“Stay the hell away from my sister!”

Robb slammed the phone down and stormed towards the settee. He settled down and then turned to look at her. Though concern lurked in his countenance, Robb’s eyes were glowing like some rabid dog, his veins hammering at his forehead as he clenched snd unclenched his fists. Sansa shirked back at his hard stare.

“Jaime Lannister? Really, Sansa! Of all the people...”

“Robb-“

“I thought you knew better. Jaime Lannister is an arrogant son of a bitch who causes only trouble. Sansa, why in seven hells did you give him your phone number?”

“Robb, he saved me...”

Robb let out a low growl of laughter, eyes darkening as he turned away from her, still clenching his goddamn fists. “The only reason he saved you, Sansa, is for himself. “ Robb glared at her. “After everything we’ve told you about them and you, what, feel that you can associate freely with one of them?  
Do you know what he did to Aerys? The only reason he’s still in the Army is because of his father! Gods, Sansa, don’t you dare defend him!”

“Don’t you dare pretend you know what it was like!” she yelled, twisting to face him. “You weren’t there, and just because you and dad have some sort of blind hatred for them all doesn’t mean we all do. Besides, no one knows the truth about Aerys! And if you must know, if Jaime hadn’t come along, Ramsey would have raped me, Robb!”

“It’s not blind hatred - you have no idea what they’ve done. Jesus, Sansa, the man’s a murderer!”

“I’m not a child anymore - you don’t have to speak to me as if I’m stupid. I know what I’m doing.”

Robb glared at her, standing up with uncharacteristic abruptness. “You’re certainly acting like a child. Fine, Sansa, do as you will, but I won’t be responsible for the consequences when he uses you.”

Sansa fought back tears as she watched Robb storm off upstairs. It was all to do with his hatred of Jaime and nothing to do with her but it didn’t stop her from crying as she shook from the ferocity of his hatred. What she truly didn’t understand was why Robb and father hated the Lannisters so much. Her mother and she had never been won over by the men’s almost vehement dislike of the old family, Sansa having been friends with Myrcella since she was a five. She and her mother had previously talked of their shared dislike for Myrcella’s mother, the curt and snobbish Cersei Lannister and her grandfather, the famous old lion, Tywin. However, Catelyn, who had met the two Lannister brothers a year ago at a society ball, had told Sansa that Jaime and Tyrion had been nothing but courteous to her.

And now, having met one of the brothers in question, Sansa was inclined to agree with her mother: Jaime seemed far from the horrific image of the murderer and scoundrel that Robb painted of him. How her brother could be so judgemental when he hardly knew Jaime, Sansa could not fathom.

Part in spite at her brother, and part for want of company, Sansa walked over the the telephone. Luckily, her mother had kept in a small notebook the telephone numbers of all of those important in London society. Arranged alphabetically, it took Sansa less than a minute to find Jaime’s telephone number. She dialled and waited for him to pick up, tapping her fingers on the side table and chewing her lip between her teeth.

“Jaime Lannister speaking.”

“Hello... it’s um, well, it’s Sansa... Sansa Stark.”

“Sansa,” he said, drawling her name. “What a pleasant surprise! I take it that was your brother who picked up,” Jaime laughed, a deep rumble coming down the line. Sansa let out an audible sigh. Her fingers ceased their tapping.

“I’m so sorry - Robb’s so overprotective...” she trailed off awkwardly. 

“Of course. I completely understand.” If anything, Jaime sounded amused and Sansa leaned against the wall, thankful that Robb had not turned Jaime away. “It’s good that he cares.”

”Even if he cares to act like a loaded gun half the time? I am sorry, Jaime.”

”Hey, don’t worry about it.”

“I hope I’m not interrupting now.”

“No, of course not. I’m bored actually. I have little to do until I’m shipped off to France.” Jaime laughed again and Sansa felt her stomach flip. “I don’t suppose that’s what you expected. Lannisters do have, I suppose, a reputation for power and work.”

“I don’t believe in stereotypes. I prefer to make my own opinions,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, the black sheep of the family- though I suppose it would be the white wolf in your case.”

Sansa found herself laughing and pressed her hand over her mouth to stifle the noice, lest Robb hear.

“Yes, well, I’ve always been the white wolf, as you say.”

“Well, since you’re here... would this white wolf like to meet tomorrow- and of course, bring Brienne,” he added hastily. Sansa could feel the little jump of excitement in her stomach - she had few friends to see, bar Brienne, Marge and Cella. It would be nice to have company of a different sort.

“I would be delighted. I’m sure Brienne would love to come too.”

“We could meet at Regent’s Park. Is ten o’clock tomorrow convenient for you?”

“I’m sure that will be fine. I’ll call Brienne and let her know.”

“See you tomorrow, Sansa.”

Sansa pressed her lips together to stop herself from smiling like a madwoman. “See you, Jaime.”

He hung up and she slowly put the phone back on the hook, making her way into the kitchen. She was more than pleased at Jaime’s invitation - she was desperate to know more about this mysterious man and after all, she enjoyed socialising with friends, because that’s what they were now, she told herself. Friends.

 

 


	3. III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You never know what is enough unless you know what is more than enough.“ - William Blake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would love any feedback on the contextual accuracy of my writing - what I know of WW2 I know from museum visits and period dramas. X

Sansa felt a giddiness as she took the tube to Regent’s Park. As a child she had delighted in her family’s numerous outings: outings where Sansa had played knights and princesses with her brothers and her sister had often boisterously thrown mud and dirt at her during their frequent squabbles. Sansa had been the very epitome of a lady when she was a child, but age had brought only fondness for Arya’s antics which had, at the time, fulled her anger at her little sister. Nevertheless, age had brought both maturity and understanding. Sansa adored Arya, and the family rarely brought up their disputes, save to humour themselves with the childishness of their feuds.

Stepping off the tube and enjoying the fresh air brought the reminiscence to an end. The fonder memories of a peaceful, joyful London life slipped away, replaced by a different kind of excitement, altogether different from anything she had experienced as a child. She and Jaime had decided to meet at one of the Park’s main entrances near the tube stop. The prospect of seeing the handsome captain again made her fidgety and brought a smile to her face, though, as she hung around by the railings, her free thought gave way to more anxious sentiments and Sansa felt her habitual lip-biting take hold. Nevertheless, not five minutes later she noticed Jaime walking towards her, smiling warmly.

“Hello, Sansa.”

“Jaime,” she greeted. He took her hand, brushing his lips over the soft skin and glancing up at her as he did so with those enchanting green eyes. Sansa shivered a little at the intensity of the gaze, relishing in the lingering feeling that his mouth left on her skin.

“Sorry I’m late. Father summoned me.” He shrugged his shoulders apologetically. “I leave for France on Wednesday.”

“That’s so soon,” she replied sympathetically, before brightening. Her mother had frequently reminded her children that they should take every bit of bad news with a little optimism. “I suppose that means we ought to make the most of the acceptable weather before you depart.”

Of course, being London, the dry and cloudy sky, though meagre, was fairly suitable for a walk. The sliver of sun threatening to shine behind the clouds was even enough to deem the weather pleasant. Sansa slid her arm through his and felt her skin heat with the added closeness. He might be almost fifteen years older, but she was completely unbothered, and he was not unattractive for his age. On the contrary, Sansa found him handsome. Jaime had removed him cap, allowing the sparse rays of sunlight to fall on his blond hair and the defined lines and slopes of his angled face. Moreover, Sansa had called Margaery that morning, filled with nerves. Her dear friend had fully encouraged their meeting, and praised his qualities:

“Oh, his brother speaks highly of him,” her friend had told her. Margaery was a close acquaintance of Tyrion Lannister, to Sansa’s great advantage, as she had heard a lot about Jaime. “He’s quite the gentleman, even being a Lannister. An excellent fighter, but gentle too, I think, and considerate. Not to mention he’s dashingly good looking,” Margaery had added sultrily.

As they walked, exchanging pleasantries, Sansa became more and more convinced of the truth to Margaery’s words, and less of the hatred her own family had for the Lannisters, and of Jaime. Had she told her brother or father that she was meeting him today, they would have been particularly angry, she knew. What Sansa couldn’t understand was where their issue with Jaime lay. If they had known that she was meeting him, their problem would have been with his name, rather than his age which would have been the issue for most families. Nor would it wouldn’t have mattered that Jaime was a good friend. To her family, there was no worse crime than to be seen fraternising with “that monstrous family”, as her father had so eloquently phrased it, more than once. Moreover, to see a Lannister _man..._ it would have brought on a dozen ridiculous lectures about propriety and self-respect! Though she loved her family more than anything, she despised its traditional views of friendships between a man and a woman. A lady from three, Sansa had found Arya a a guiding influence as she grew up, shaping her from a spoilt brat to a liberal young woman. The Stark sisters thought beyond the limitations society imposed on them, much to the chagrin of their father.

“So, Sansa Stark, what stories do you have for me? Surely you must have something entertaining tale to tell.

“Oh I have many such stories, most set in this park. My family used to come here a lot when my sister Arya and I were young,” she said, watching as Jaime tilted his head quizzically.

“Arya loved to tease me, and she often worked with my eldest brother Robb, though he always hated it, I think: we were, and are, very close. Anyway, we came here one day in the summer, maybe ten years ago, and mother had made a divine cake: Victoria sponge, with cream and jam, and Arya thought it would be funny to create another cake: identical, but instead of sugar, she used salt. Sometime during the picnic, she changed my slice for one of the slices for the false cake, and let me eat it.” Sansa laughed, grinning at the memory. “It tasted absolutely vile: I spat it out and began to cry and my mother and father, of corse, realised immediately what they had done. Father shouted at them, but I was so angry that they had ruined such a lovely day. Robb apologised immediately, while Arya laughed, but I didn’t speak to either of them for a week. Of course, now I’m not a silly little girl. I love them both and we get along very well, but I didn’t forget what they had done.”

Jaime chuckled. “That’s a fine trick. I think I’d like your sister, and my brother too. He and I used to trick Cersei, though nothing so cruel as that,” he added. “Mostly it was childish games, but after a while I began to lose interest. I loved both my siblings and I didn’t want to come between them, though Cersei always hated Tyrion for ‘stealing me away’. We’re twin, and I suppose Cersei always thought that she I were closer than Tyrion and I.”

“I’m sorry, Jaime,” Sansa said quietly. He shook his head.

“Don’t be sorry. Cersei always hated him, because he’s a dwarf. My family was never as loving as yours, though my mother is the kindest soul I’ve met. She shouldn’t be a Lannister.”

“I’d like to meet her.”

Jaime looked at her in surprise. “Would you? Then I’ll have to introduce you. When I return from France... when I return, I’ll make it so.” Both of them acknowledged the inherent meaning behind his words. It was true, many families and couples wandered through the park, yet there was a noticeable absence of male figures. Like a thief, the war had stolen many men from the hearts of their families. Some it had taken forever. In her heart, Sansa knew that there was a good chance she could lose her brothers. Now, as she walked with Jaime, his words reminded her that he was as easily lost.

“You’ll be careful, won’t you? Out there.”

Jaime shook his head at her, smiling. “It is you who should be careful, Sansa.”

“Me? Why?”

Jaime opened his mouth, but then his cheeks coloured and he shut his mouth, shaking his head again. “Nothing, I just... London is dangerous. You know, the bombings,” he added hastily. Sansa could have sworn Jaime was blushing and was almost certain he was lying.

“Hmmmm,” she muttered, laughing at Jaime’s embarrassment. How sweet he was to be so bashful under the cool and mature exterior he expressed. “Jaime,” she added reproachfully, “how can London possibly be any more dangerous than France? You’ll be on the frontline! My safety is hardly a worry compared to the danger you’ll be in.”

“Sansa, sweetling, you’re going to make me weep,” he teased. She responded by scowling at him, and hitting his arm with a playful punch. It did not, maddeningly, disguise the blush that rose to her cheeks at the term of endearment he used.

“Cruel man!” Somehow this easy interaction felt natural. Jaime was an army captain, and socially her superior, but he was warm and kind and amusing and he clearly did not mind their teasing conversations because he allowed her reprimands without any sign of anger or annoyance. Jaime merely laughed at her frustration and took her arm again, smirking as only he could.

“I know you cannot promise to return unharmed,” she began quietly. “I know that well enough, I have brothers in the army after all, but Jaime promise me you will keep well. I should hate to see you come to harm. I have need of good friends.”

“Yes, you do lack friends of that calibre,” he remarked, face split with a maddening grin. “What’s that doe-eyed brunette you hang around with called?” Jaime added, feigning ignorance for the pleasure of watching Sansa’s annoyance.

“You are vexing and irritating.”

“Oh but sweetling, you look so amusing when you are full of annoyance. How can I help myself?”

Sansa sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes in a most unladylike manner. “A Lannister through and through,” she muttered, though there was no malice in her tone.

“That I am,” he said, satisfied. “And my job on this earth is to come along and to tease poor young things such as yourself into a lifetime of frustration with my sharp wit.”

“And your blatant modesty.”

“My most redeeming quality.”

“You are funny, Jaime.” Sansa shook her head at him again, though a smile danced on her lips.

“Ah, now you see, I have won you over.” Jaime quietened but when he spoke again his voice was considerably more serious: “Did you mean what you said? I, that is, you would consider us friends?”

“I don’t hold my family’s ingrained hatred for Lannisters. You’re a good man, Jaime, despite common belief. At least, I think you are.”

A shadow fell over the officer’s face. His eyes darkened momentarily and his hand, she saw, shook slightly. A moment later he was regained his composure and he watched her studiously. “You think or you know?”

“I... I believe, in my heart, that you’re good... I’ve heard the rumours, of course I have, about Aerys and you... that you killed but you don’t strike me as a man who would kill a man out of cold blood for no reason.”

Jaime sighed raggedly. “You shouldn’t believe rumours, sweetling. Neither should you trust your own heart. Neither will bring you to the truth. Whatever you believe, you have in me a friend, but only if you promise to make your own decisions as to my character.”

“I already have. Do you think I take petty rumour seriously?”

“No, no you’re far too sensible for that.”

“And you’re far too flattering!” she joked, nudging him. Sansa grinned. “You’re lucky I didn’t turn into the eloquent lady my mother desired me to be, otherwise I might not have taken to your ungentlemanly conduct.”

Jaime smirked at her without turning his head. “My ‘ungentlemanly conduct’ is it? I seem to recall that you yourself are rather forward, Sansa.”

“I am not a believer of leaving women to fate and circumstance. If you have a problem with that-“

“No, I do not,” he added hurriedly. “I’m just surprised. Pleasantly surprised. I too wish women were given a stronger position in our society.”

“Then we are agreed?” At Jaime’s nod, Sansa beamed. “Truly Jaime, I am finding it rather difficult to dislike you, except of course, there is your unrelenting arrogance to contend with.”

“Unavoidable, sweet lady,” he grinned. Jaime maintained their easy conversation until they had walked thrice along the circular park path until noon. Now that it was midday, a number of suit-clad men and uniformed officers were now striding though the green space, accompanied by lovers, friends and siblings. Jaime led her towards the exit of Regent’s Park, reaching for her hand for the second time and brushing his lips over her fair skin. Sansa commended herself for neither jumping nor blushing as he did so. Jaime straightened, hesitating for a moment, then gave in and reached for her. Sansa easily accepted the offer of his arms as Jaime’s tall frame enveloped her, squeezing her good-naturedly and rubbing a hand over her back. When they broke apart, there was a definite shine in Jaime’s eyes which illuminated the green colouring of his irises under the midday sun. Sansa found herself unable to bring herself to leave, fixed to the ground by the fierceness of his eyes. Jaime too seemed unable to say or do anything, but the chiming of Big Ben in the distance jolted them both from their trances. “I should go...” he began, motioning behind himself.

“I... well, call me when you return.. and stay safe... Jaime,” she demurred. Jaime smiled again at her, brushing a stray finger over her cheekbone. This time, unexpectedness of the notion, she could not help the involuntary jolt of her body nor the tingling sensation that fluttered from her face to her fingers.

“You too, Sansa.”

Without another word, he turned and left, striding purposefully towards the end of the road. Sansa found herself possessed with the urge to run after him, but it was unladylike and foolish-

“Jaime!” Apparently, she did not have complete control of her impulsiveness.

Jaime turned to look at her, quirking a brow.

“Might I write to you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

That was the last time she saw Jaime Lannister for three months.

 

 


	4. IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An exchange of words, many left unsaid.
> 
> Croanaím thú = I miss you (Gaelic) - Thanks to @winterjons / siriuslydraco with that one!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you’re all enjoying this so far! As it goes, updates seem to be one a month, so it’ll probably stay that way. I’m just going to see where this little AU takes me :-) Comments are appreciated!

_Dear Jaime,_

_I penned so many drafts of this letter, each with no idea of what I might say to you, but from everything I have heard of the conditions in France from my brothers, I thought any news of home would be better than none at all._

_I do little here, but shopping, or going to see Brienne or Margaery and I feel so useless, as so many of we young women do. Brienne’s work as a nurse seems to be something she takes great joy in, and with the war and the demand for new recruits, I have wondered many times if I should begin training myself. I would never have envisaged such an occupation for myself as a child, but life changes us, and in such times I cannot sit sewing by the fire. I cannot remain idle while you all risk your lives._

_Life continues, though it seems as if we lose people everyday: to war, to evacuation, or to death. The people say there may be an end in sight, and for all your sakes, I wish it so, but I cannot envisage such a war being over so easily. I only pray you all return unharmed._

_Please, take care; I should like to see you again soon, to tell you all this trivial news in person, with you in front of me just as you were when we last met, than to send such news on a piece of paper to you, a thousand miles away. Our meetings have been the greatest source of joy and happiness for me and I found peace in being able to talk to openly with you; you, Jaime, who allows me to be as free with my words as my sister is with her jesting. In truth, I miss you, Jaime, and I am unashamed to say it. I am in want of good friendship, so I beg you to succeed in returning to London, limbs intact, for my sake if nothing else._

_With all my prayers,_

_Sansa._

Jaime’s lips twitched with a smile as his eyes swallowed the contents of the letter, particularly at her sweet endearments of their meetings. Out here, he was the same as every other one of his men: his letters from home were his one sustaining joy. He knew many of the young lads believed he had a woman - some secret young fiancée or sweetheart he hid from their prying eyes. How could he explain in mere words that Sansa was more than that, that she had always been more since the moment they’d met. ‘Friends’, she called them, yet Jaime was certain that he wasn’t alone in thinking of her in a more intimate mind, even if she was withholding her own feelings. Or he could be mistaken in assuming Sansa felt anything for him beyond an innocent companionship. Jaime shook his head: he treasured her letters, and her company, and unlike with Cersei, there was no passionate rush within him, no mindless desire to own and possess and claim. He belonged to her, and he did so without trying, for she had conquered him so cleverly. For that, he would leave the reigns entirely in her capable hands.

The Captain hovered with his pen over his own paper, pondering his words, but when none came, he began a letter to his mother instead. Cersei never wrote, and Tyrion’s letter had already been written, for his brother’s letters did not need the care he put in Sansa’s letters, or the words of comfort his mother’s correspondence required. While the distant thudding of bombs and the faint chatter of the men rolled around his ears, Jaime scribbled furiously, describing as best he could life on the front without alarming his mother. Though strong and entirely capable of hearing whatever brutalities the letter might detail, he did not wish to bring her unhappiness or undue worry for her eldest son. When he had finished, he slid the letter inside the envelope, addressed it and reached for a new sheet to once again attempt to write something to bring a smile to Sansa’s face. Unfortunately, his recollection of Sansa’s pretty smile was dashed by the arrival of Fawkes.

“Sir, them new boys are ‘ere,” the northern lad said gruffly, jerking his head in the direction of the doorway from which he had just entered. Jaime stood to greet him, nodding.

“Very well. Send them in, will you? Thank you, Fawkes.” The boy left and Jaime watched him leave fondly, smiling as he saw him crack a joke with his companions outside. He had come to admire the boy: he was one of the few who had survived through all of Jaime’s time here and he was full of wit and jest, despite their circumstances. Jaime hoped he wouldn’t meet his end, but he knew all too well the risks of war by now: perhaps he had been foolish in promising Sansa he would return home, but what else could he have said?

The new boys trooped in, wearing the same dull green uniform as his current men, but without the tried, wan faces they sported. Jaime scanned them, gave them the usual address but he found himself oddly distracted by one in particular. A pale lad with short black hair and grey eyes framed by a soft, handsome face that Jaime was sure many ladies found attractive. It wasn’t until Jaime dismissed them that he realised that the boy he’d been staring at was Jon Snow, Eddard Stark’s bastard son and Sansa’s half brother. What a small world, he thought, resisting the grin that rose under his face. He ought to tell Sansa. Returning to his desk, he took up the paper and pen, and began to write.

——

“Sansa, have you seen my coat!”

The sister in question groaned and pushed herself up from the chair she’d been slouched in, dropping the letter on her dressing table. Reluctantly, she wandered downstairs from the direction of the yell to find Arya frantically scouring every nook and cranny of the Stark household for her blessed winter coat. It seemed she had already found help in her quest, for Rickon too was scouring the cupboards. “No, I haven’t Arya. I’ve told you you shouldn’t leave things to the last minute. If you have to be somewhere at a certain time...”

“‘...I should put my coat out the night before.’ Yes, I know that!”

Sansa sighed, leaning on the bannister. “Honestly Arya I do try!” Arya merely looked up and threw her sister a look of complete annoyance as she continued to search for the garment. “Oh, I’ll look okay!” Sansa conceded after a while. She did not miss her sister’s satisfied grin.

After only a few minutes, Sansa opened the cupboard under the stairs to see the coat hanging up on the rail. “Arya, honestly! You must have put it away last time. You’re hopeless!”

Her sister gave her a sheepish grin and snatched the coat from Sansa’s hands. “Thanks. Now I really have to go.”

Sansa raised an eyebrow as the younger Stark threw the coat around her shoulders and made for the door. “Where might you be going in such a rush?” It was utterly unlike Arya to be so eager to leave the comfortable freedoms of home; as was the blush that covered the apples of her cheeks.

“I’m meeting... a friend,” the younger sister blurted out before turning to pull the door open. When she could not, Sansa smirked watching Arya try in vain to escape in huffs and grunts of annoyance.

“A friend? My, Arya, why are you blushing so?” Sansa teased, grinning when Arya growled with annoyance at the door and remained silent to her sister’s question. “This friend... it wouldn’t be *Gendry* now, would it?”

At this, Arya ceased fussing with the door and spun angrily on her heel, glaring with the upmost impertinence at Sansa. “Yes, I am going to see Gendry. It’s not as if *you* haven’t got things to hide either! And it’s none of your business, Sansa.”

“I’m your sister - everything you do is my business. What things might those be, hmmm?”

“Who are all those letters from, Sansa? They’re certainly not from Robb or Jon; not the way you blush when you read them.”

Sansa paled, fingers digging into the wood bannister. She tried to recover herself before Arya could see the stricken look on her face but it was too late because her sister’s face split in glee. “You *do* have a secret solider! I knew it!”

“Arya, I swear...”

“What? I won’t tell anyone... if you keep my secrets.” Arya tilted her head and Sansa nodded reluctantly. “Then it’s fine.” Arya manages to open the door, and before another word could be exchanged, she was gone. On a sudden thought, Sansa darted around, thinking of Rickon who had probably heard the whole damn thing, but she sags with relief when her youngest sibling is nowhere to be seen, and the sound of his chattering little voice from the kitchen only reassures her further. Sansa shrugged her own brown coat over her shoulders, and made sure to grab the hat she liked to wear out, leaving the house herself. As she takes the front steps two at a time, her hand slipped into her pocket and found the sealed letter inside and she smiled softly as she stepped out into the morning light. Jaime’s last letter had been so sweet that she had rushed to reply to it that very morning, and she fully intended to post it before she met with Brienne, eager for another reply. Whatever this thing was with Jaime, she found herself wishing he would return soon, that she might see him again before she went mad from wanting.

Wanting. She wanted him, did she? Or did she like the idea of a handsome solider sweeping off her feet? That he is a Lannister and forbidden to her, as a Stark? Whatever the reason, want him she did, and every time she thought of how he had looked in the park the last time she had seen him, bathed and radiant in morning light and glowing with kindness, she felt her stomach curl with a warm twist, and her cheeks could not help but bloom with the happiness that thrums in her blood like a marching band. Sansa remembered the words, his sweet voice and the feeling of the crumpled, warm paper, soft under her fingers as she read it for the first time. She had had other letters, of course, but when she had read this one, there had been a hitch in her breath that no other litany of of his words had been able to evoke from her.

_Dear Sansa,_

_I am beyond flattered that you put so much thought into your letters to me. Truly, when you suggested writing to me, you gave me a lifeline I did not then know I needed. In such cold, brutal places as these, whatever words you gift to me, sweet girl, are treasured beyond measure. I hope soon I will be able to take some leave, to come home and see my mother, whom I miss dearly, and of course, to meet with you once again and see your lovely smile, one of the few things I have left that can bring me comfort. Perhaps, if you are amenable to the idea, I might take you to see my mother. I am certain you would enjoy her company, and she yours, so much do each of you remind me of the other._

_I am happy to hear you have found an interest in nursing, and I think it is certainly an admirable and honourable occupation, especially in this time of war. If I were injured, I would wish for no one else but you at my side. I am without doubt you will excel at the role, and I am sure Brienne will be a good friend, to help you as you adjust. You must tell me all of this when I return._

_I should add, your brother Jon has been sent to my company. He did not seem to have issue with my name, but I will tread carefully. I am sure you worry for both your brothers: I will look out for Jon as best as I am able and keep him from harm as long as I can, but I cannot deny that it is dangerous over here, and there is little joy or good fortune to be found. Only this week I lost three of my boys, all good lads and it is always so dark here, and the moods of the men - though not hopeless, not yet - grow darker with it. Still, Tyrion has told me the air raids on London have begun to increase: stay safe, sweet Sansa, wherever you go._

_I look forward to nothing more than to meeting you upon my return._

_Croanaím thú,_

_Jaime_.


	5. V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime returns, and following an unpleasant altercation, reunites with his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Last little update before my exams I think! Hope you enjoy - finally Joanna appears, matchmaker of the century ;) 
> 
> Reviews are lovingly appreciated :-)

Jaime leaned against the window of the bustling carriage, hoping the cool glass might temper the warmth rushing through his veins, setting his skin aflame with every careless lick of fire that coursed through him. To his misfortune, the sight of stretching green fields and endless hills did little to douse his desire. Jaime rubbed his temple with one rough hand, banishing fatigue; with his other he ran his thumb lightly over the paper he held. He had read Sansa’s last letter more times than he cared to admit. Though filled with her usual mundane tales, Jaime found pleasure in reading of her ordinary life in London, now so wholly distant from his own on the battlefield. Furthermore, her sweet words had stirred in him a happiness the war had snatched away, and her joy at his return was reverent and heartfelt. It made him anxious for home, to see her smile once again.

_For with it you stole my heart, enchantress, and then some, when the world believed nothing existed at all._ Jaime shook his head to escape the spell this lovely young woman had cast upon him, far too close to losing his steely composure, though he supposed he was not to blame for this. She was unwitting in her magic, her words designed for comfort, not seduction, yet seduce him she had:

_‘...You cannot know how much I have longed for your return. I am anxious to have you back where I know you are safe…’_

Distracted, it was the low hum of chatter morphing into raucous excitement which signalled their arrival in London. Jaime slowly folded the worn paper into a square and tucked it into his breast pocket. As the other men began to jostle each other and push towards the doors, the train screeched uncomprehendingly to a stop. By the time he had risen, most of the soldiers had already spilled from the packed carriage, pouring like a true English downpour onto the platform, into the waiting arms of their families. Jaime knew not to expect the same greeting - _not yet_ \- and slid past the remaining soldiers, pushing through heaving crowds to escape the clamour of returned soldiers. His mother had mentioned that she was going to meet him, in her last letter, and he was glad for it. Jaime did not enjoy the excitable, harried reunions the men favoured, but nor did he wish to return to empty arms and solitude.

He had passed the ruckus of the crowd, and had almost reached the exit when a tall blonde woman approached him. Impatient to see his mother, he made to slide past her, but she called out his name and he looked up; the sight turned his mood full circle and Jaime’s face took on the sour downturn that he usually reserved for bad wine and black telegrams.

“Cersei.”

His sister smiled sweetly, tilting her head and considering him. As always, he thought ruefully, he was under her imperious scrutiny. His previous smile took on a dour turn and he scowled at her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, biting down his anger.

“Why, I thought only to welcome you home. And thank goodness! You look a fright, Jaime!” she scoffed. “What has become of England, that soldiers cannot keep themselves looking respectable!”

His mood already tumultuous; Cersei’s blatant disdain for the difficulties that he had faced - that they had all faced - was enough to break his restraint.

“Enough, Cers. I do not wish to speak to you, which you know well enough, so I do not know why you thought to come.”

“Jaime, I came to apologise,” she pressed on. His sister clasped her hands in front of her and pressed her lips together resolutely. “I know that you are angry about what you saw, but there is every reason-”

Jaime laughed coldly, shaking his head in disbelief. That Cersei thought she could win him back into her bed, after what he had seen… she had some ambition, he would grant her that. He supposed she thought him more pliable after his time away. _Quite the opposite, dear sister._ War had opened his eyes to more than just the horrors in France. Jaime ground his teeth, meeting Cersei’s eyes with a cold stare to rival her own confident gaze.

“Stop this pathetic facade, sister.” Jaime leaned in close, flashing his eyes and gritting his jaw as he clamped a firm hand around her wrist. Hissing, he added, “I do not wish to see you again. Now, leave. Mother will be waiting for me.”

“I will not be so easily cast aside, Jaime,” she replied, meeting his steely gaze. “Do not think I do not know about your galavanting around with Sansa Stark. I suppose to make such meetings - unchaperoned meetings - public knowledge, would do anyone any good now would it?” Jaime held his glare, but Cersei smirked and wrenched her arm from his grip.

“What would Ned Stark have to say, I wonder, about his eldest daughter meeting a man from a family he is known to despise. I am certain you would simply hate for him to find out.” A smile tore across her lips, revealing her perfect, razored teeth. “Do be careful, Jaime.”

Cersei turned and strode away, wrapping her furs tighter about her body. Jaime looked fixedly after her, clenching his fingers until the bones cracked threateningly and his anger subsided as quickly as it had pounced upon him. Whatever Cersei sought to incite, Jaime had no mind to allow her to destroy any more of his life. He would not allow her to wreck whatever he and Sansa shared, be it the friendship they had begun, or the tentative closeness that had grown in their thoughtful words these last six months. Jaime had found that with every one of her sweet letters, Sansa had ceased to be some beautiful, unattainable woman that he could only gaze on from afar, but had become to him a reverent, angelic being, to whom he entrusted his fears, wishes, worries and desires without a single cursory thought, and of whom he hoped he might be a even fraction worthy. When the time was right, Jaime had every plan to speak to her of his affection, and his desire to court her, but his fear of rejection and his worries of the war still played heavily on his conscience. Moreover, he would do nothing until he had spoken to his mother. After all, Joanna Lannister had won his iron-hearted father with her musical affinity, gentility and loyalty: skills which had left their mother unrivalled in Tywin’s search for a wife. If anyone could give advice on the whims of the human heart and the taming of its desires, it was his mother.

Ever the elegant lady, Joanna Lannister was instantly recognisable amongst the ugliness of the smoke covered, bustling capital. Jaime found his mother standing demurely by the entrance to the station, her golden hair swept into her habitual updo. On seeing her beloved son, Joanna broke from her ladylike composure, revealing the lovely smile that had enchanted many a man and woman. Seeing his mother so happy relieved him of his anger at seeing Cersei. A grown man he may be, but Jaime had no qualms in letting his mother embrace him as if he were five years old again.

“My darling boy,” she murmured, brushing a hand over his back reassuringly as she embraced him. Jaime allowed himself this moment of maternal comfort.

“Mother,” he responded, pleased. Jaime felt her gentle hands on his arms as she drew back to take in his appearance. Joanna appraised him with twinkling eyes.

“You look well.” Joanna laughed a little. “I am glad you’re home safe. We were both just saying how worried we were about you, though of course it was ridiculous…” She shook her head, patting his shoulder proudly. “If there is anyone capable of going to war, and coming home alive, it is my eldest boy.”

Jaime chuckled even as a frown rose to his face. “Did you say ‘we’?”

Joanna shot him a sideways glance; a look that told him she had hatched one of her famous schemes. Jaime followed her gaze as she turned to look behind her. At once, he felt his heart jump and stutter as he saw Sansa walking towards them, luxurious red locks pinned up in a twisted updo that echoed that of his mother, a brown coat over her tall frame. Stray curls peeked out near her ears and Jaime swallowed the thick lump in his throat and the little voice in his head telling him to tangle his hands in that hair and… _God, what have I gotten myself into._

Sansa blushed as she met his gaze. Her lips upturned shyly and she tucked her hands into her coat pockets. His mother gave him a sheepish look. “Jaime, darling, I hope you don’t mind, but I saw Sansa waiting just nearby and I simply had meet her. Besides, I didn’t want you waiting alone,” she added to an unnaturally-quiet Sansa.

“It’s quite alright, mother,” he replied quietly. _It’s the best thing you could have done._ If he was thankful for one thing, it was that Sansa’s constant presence in his his thoughts seemed to have summoned her to him. Once again, he sought her eyes. The intensity with which she watched him was so fierce that he struggled to grasp the words from his jumbled brain. “I, erm, I had no idea you had planned to come… to the station. I didn’t think you’d be here, that is.” _Get it together, you foolish imbecile_. If his brother were here, Jaime would have been the subject of Tyrion’s mockery a thousand times over by now, he knew.

Yet despite his fumbling, Sansa smiled warmly. Her face still held the lovely blush she had shown at his arrival and he cursed the aching in his chest at the sight. It made him feel slightly less embarrassed when she too struggled to clarify her thoughts.

“I didn’t want you to arrive with no one to greet you, though of course I should have realised your mother would come, but I wanted… well, I thought it might be nice if I came...” Sansa trailed off. She fidgeted with her hands, her blush rapidly staining her cheeks and he wondered how every innocent reaction of hers could be so utterly endearing. Was this what it was like to long for someone? When had every little gesture of hers touched him so profoundly? If this was the love he had scoffed at as a child, he regretted ever disdaining it. Joanna rubbed Sansa’s shoulder affectionately, and he thought his heart might burst at how accepting his mother was of this woman he loved.

_Loved_. He did, he loved her. How could he have been so foolish as to ever think of them as friends. She was his friend, his confidant, and yet… and _yet she holds my heart._ Sansa was the woman of dreams he had long ago dismissed. In her was the burning hope of liberation, of an escape from the darkened, dank cellar of Cersei’s control.

Lost in the wilderness of his own imagination, his mother’s enthusiasm recalled him to the present, and with that, the sinking feeling that Sansa was not his, not yet.

“Oh Sansa, I am so pleased that you came!” Joanna gushed. “Jaime had told me he wished to introduce us, but I have been excited to meet you - even if I feel I know you already.” She added: “Jaime always talks about you.” Joanna, blind to the blushing youngsters, beamed with enthusiasm. Jaime interrupted her with a deliberate cough, looking at his mother pointedly.

“I apologise… I tend to chatter, especially when in such pleasant company. You must excuse me, Sansa.”

“It is quite alright, Lady Lannister,” Sansa said in earnest. Jaime watched her as she tucked back a stray curl behind her ear, and wondered if her little blushes were a sign of reciprocation, but rationally, it was likely Sansa’s nervousness at meeting his mother. It was she who had first called them friends, after all.

“Please, call me Joanna, Sansa. Now, perhaps we ought to take some tea? I know of a little place not far from here,” Joanna proposed. The younger two agreed without hesitation, if only to escape the discomfort they shared, following the older woman across the road as she led them into a small street filled with a littering of shops with dim windows and peeling paint. The exception was the establishment into which she led them.

The green-fronted Highgarden tea shop was a small but immensely popular establishment that had seen a rising influx of visitors since the start of the war, being so close to Waterloo Station and right in the heart of London. It was here, surrounded by cream teas and warm chairs that the trio settled for refreshment. Though rationing had diminished the culinary experience for many households, the capital had some hundreds of these quaint, lively tea shops which still thrived as a meeting place for families, soldiers and sweethearts. The delicacies they served were excellent, and remained as such even in wartime. Joanna set about ordering tea and cakes, which, once dealt with, allowed the three of them to begin easy conversation. The war was inevitably discussed, and then a little of high society, though this was quickly brushed over (none of the the three believed it warranted much thought). Instead, the conversation turned to music, and his mother’s skill on the piano, an ability, which, Jaime told Sansa, she had passed onto her eldest son. Though his father had fought against a musical education, his mother had insisted he be allowed some artistic explorations.

“Did your brother or sister never learn an instrument?” she enquired with a little tilt that pushed her face into the sunlight for moment. Jaime watched her blue eyes glitter as dangerous temptation overtook him once more.

“Oh, Tyrion learnt to play a few tunes on the piano, but he never had any strong desire to master the skill,” he recalled. Regaining some semblance of sanity, he took a sip of tea, the memories of his confrontation with his sister still at the forefront of his mind, though blurring in the face of Sansa. “Cersei… she rejected music. She was much too busy out at social events. Father was overjoyed: it allowed him to introduce her at balls, to find her a suitor, but,” Jaime added ruefully, “Cersei hated them all. She wanted to _be_ my father, I think, not his daughter, to be sold off to the next suitable bachelor in order to further my father’s career.”

Jonna chipped in. “She’s an ambitious girl, my daughter, just like her father. I wish she would have spent more time with me, but I am her mother, not her watcher, and she seemed happy enough to play with power.”

“My own mother despairs of me,” Sansa confessed, seeing Joanna’s sadness at the mention of Cersei, “therefore I cannot find myself at all critical or condemning of your parenting. Cersei and I, perhaps we are both free spirits, destined to rebel,” she offered with a shrug.

At once, the flinch rose from him, seizing his limbs in a cold death grip. Sansa and Cersei were wholly separate beings. He could not consider it otherwise. While Sansa was the epitome of goodness and love and joy, Cersei was manipulative and destructive. Imagining Sansa as he had found Cersei that night he discovered her infidelity sickened him. Sansa could never do as his sister had done, would never have given herself so freely to another man. Unbidden, his mind taunted him with images of Sansa in place of Cersei: hips rolling, her head thrown back in pleasure as red curls - not gold - tumbled down her back. He felt like he had swallowed knives.

“Sansa,” he abhorred, “you cannot possibly mean to compare yourself to Cersei.” There could not be a greater injustice. He would not - he _could not_ allow her to tarnish herself in such a manner.

Unfortunately for Jaime, his mother was inclined to agree. She frowned critically before nodding in agreement with the young woman.

“Jaime, Sansa speaks the truth.” She laid a hand over hers. “You remind me of my daughter, in some ways, Sansa dearest. Both of you share the same self-assurance and strength, even if Cersei does not have your soft, kind heart.”

Jaime tutted, drawing both the women’s attention, but before he found himself subject to their inevitable rebuke, a waitress arrived with the tea.

_And thank the gods for that._

“Jaime,” his mother warned when he opened his mouth. Shutting it reluctantly, he just shook his head and threw his hands into the air with all the drama of a sulking child. If there was one pleasure to be derived from this awkwardness, however, it was the peal of laughter his childish behaviour had provoked from Sansa. She dropped her half-eaten cake on the plate, covering her mouth with her hand as she giggled.

“I’m glad you find me so amusing,” he drawled, even as his chest tightened at her joy. Stone-faced, Jaime pouted; at this, his mother lost all composure and joined in Sansa’s laughing fit. With the two women wholeheartedly mocking him, his annoyance died and he was unable to stop the twitch of his lips.

“Ah! You laughed!” the little vixen declared, sharing a smirk with his mother that was entirely too self-satisfied for his own liking.

“Oh Jaime, you’re far too amusing for anyone’s sanity,” she added, grinning smugly. “Will you excuse me? I need to freshen up.” Sansa slipped away from the table, disappearing to the ladies’ room. No sooner had she disappeared than his mother raised a eyebrow at him.

“Well?”

Jaime sighed, reaching for his cup. “Well what?”

“Oh don’t give me that,” Joanna chided, looking at him accusingly. “You know very well what. When are you going to tell her?”

He grimaced, though he had known she would bring this up. His mother had always had a talent for reading the minds of her children. She had known about his sordid relations with Cersei, and he was only grateful she did not condemn him for it. Sansa, an eligible young woman… she must be delighted.

“I’ve only just returned,” he offered pathetically, “and you forget, mother, that I am a great deal older than Sansa. I am certain there are many young men far more deserving of her.”

“Jaime, you’re not blind, my darling. Sansa is already half smitten with you, and you her. The way you look at each other…”

“It wasn’t like this before I left.”

“No?” she affirmed, “Well it is now. Sweetheart, you have to say something to her. Before you leave. Elsewise, the both of you will agonise about it until you next return. Jaime, believe me, it will bring you both far more happiness than you have remaining silent.”

“I might not even return, and then what would that do to her!” Jaime snapped, glaring fiercely at his mother.

“Well better a little heartbreak than leaving her to wonder for the rest of her life if you’re too dead to tell her!” his mother hissed back, though there was sympathy in her eyes. “Jaime, this is wartime. Don’t leave full of regrets.”

Under his mother’s rationality, he relented. “I’m sorry, for my anger.”

Joanna reached out and stroked her son’s cheek. “I understand, Jaime, but promise me you’ll say something. For Sansa’s sake.”

“I promise,” he muttered. He knew his mother was right. _She deserves the truth, even if it’s all I can give her._

Mother and son sat in silence for a minute, before Sansa returned cheerfully. “Have you two been talking about me?” she asked jokingly, until she saw their serious expressions. “Oh…”

“Sansa, I have to leave but it has been such a delight meeting you,” Joanna said to the young woman, leaning over to kiss her cheek. Sansa smiled gratefully back.

“Thank you, Joanna. I hope we will be able to meet again soon. I should like that very much.”

“I’ll telephone soon, my dear,” she replied warmly, drawing Sansa into a cordial hug before leaving. With his mother’s absence, Sansa turned to him and he motioned for her to step outside, following her into the cool afternoon air and the bustle of the street.

“Sansa,” he began, stuffing his hands into the spacious pockets of his coat.

“Yes?”

“I, er… well…” Fuck, he certainly was not good with words. “Sansa, sweet girl, you cannot know how much I value your friendship. Those months before I left were a pleasure, to have your company, and since I’ve been gone your letters have made me happy. You cannot imagine how much. I worried about telling you this, but… well…”

“Jaime,” she murmured gently, biting her lip in a way that made his heart race. “Are you trying to ask me if you can court me?”

There was no other way to say it: he gaped at her. “Sansa…” he rambled, “if you do not want, if I erred in thinking that you do not want me to court you, then-”

“Of course I want you to,” she exclaimed, a smile bursting across her face. “Jaime, nothing could make me happier!” She let out a nervous laugh and he reached for her, curling his fingers into the loose strands of hair at the nape of her neck.

“Sansa, my love, can I…?”

“Jaime,” she whispered into the space between them, “please.”

As much as he would have liked to ravish her, he was acutely aware they were standing in the middle of a busy street and pressed his lips to hers once, twice, three times, closing his eyes as let himself sink under the weight of her love, the sensation of her body against his giving thought to more unseemly thoughts. “I think I love you, Jaime Lannister,” she said breathlessly, when they had broken their embrace.

“I should bloody well hope so,” he joked, laughing with her, “because if you didn't then all of this would be rather awkward.” 


End file.
